


Baby, can't you see?

by DeceasedRaven



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Headaches & Migraines, Kid Fic, M/M, Medication, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeceasedRaven/pseuds/DeceasedRaven
Summary: Nolan wakes up and it's 2029.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 14
Kudos: 300





	Baby, can't you see?

Crushing darkness. A weight on his chest. Tears gather at the corner of Nolan's eyes and he struggles against the hopeless, helpless feeling gathering in the pit of his stomach.

He's desperate for sleep, but he's woken up enough times anticipating the end of a migraine, only for the suffocating pain to come rushing back, that he's not looking at it as any sort of solution. He just wants a moment of nothing, because anything is better than this.

He tries to accept the pain, tries riding the wave of it. Tries sinking his limbs into every part of it. Tries forgetting every other problem that lays in wait for him beyond here, beyond his room. The forgetting helps and he finally, finally goes under and sleeps.

//

Sun filters through his blinds and Nolan spares a second to panic, that his blackout curtains are gone, that his migraine is about to get exponentially worse, before he realizes he feels no pain at all. Except for some weird ache near his ribs, and he's trying to figure out what possibly could have caused that, when a baby's cry practically perforates his eardrums.

So he's back to panicking, like, did the walls get thinner overnight or something? He's pretty sure neither of his neighbors has kids, anyways - he would have known that by now, right? He's just about to reach out for the earplugs he keeps in his nightstand, when somebody kicks him, hard, in the calf.

"The fuck?" Nolan is surprised into saying, because jesus, there's someone buried under, like, three duvets lying next to him on the bed. He's seriously considering calling the police when the top of TK's head emerges from the cocoon to say, "Your turn, bud."

Nolan very heroically does not scream.

TK has definitely invaded his apartment before, but never his bed, and he would kind of like to demand an explanation, but the baby is still crying and TK is looking at him like he's supposed to do something about it.

"Seriously, Pats, it's your turn because I got up twice last night to preserve your beauty sleep," TK says, and Nolan bristles.

"Beauty sleep?"

"Yeah, I know you like to pretend being that pretty comes naturally, but you definitely work at it, bud," says TK with a leer, and wow is Nolan not prepared to handle any of that.

"Right," he says, and rolls out of bed. Which is when he realizes he's wearing nothing but boxers. He studiously does not think about why that is and instead throws on a shirt draped over an armchair in the corner. 

He creeps out the door, edging his way towards the crying. It's becoming more and more clear that he's definitely not in his apartment and is in some sort of mountain cabin if the views out the window are anything to go by, but he decides to take this whole situation one step at a time and find the baby. 

The crying is coming from a room at the end of the hall. Nolan walks in, peers into the crib, and is struck momentarily speechless. Inside is a baby girl who seems too small to be real, more like a doll than a living, breathing human. Her cries turn to snuffles when she sees Nolan approach, and she holds out her arms. Nolan isn't a monster, so he scoops her up and rocks her close to his body. She looks up at him, and Nolan feels lost, her weight in his arms so unexpected, he has no idea what to do next.

She definitely needs a diaper change, though, which thanks to his never-ending hoard of younger cousins, he knows how to do. Once clean, she reaches back out for Nolan, who props her on his hip and wanders out into the hallway. 

He sneaks past the room he woke up in, but TK is lights out, snoring like a truck, so he continues on.

The house opens up into a huge living room with giant windows framing a breathtaking, icy lake that stretches out further than he can see. Nolan watches as a light flurry dusts the pine trees that line the water, before easing into an overstuffed armchair and carefully tucking a quilted blanket around the baby, who seems content playing with the frayed collar of his shirt. Nolan runs his fingers over the blanket's faded orange and black fabric, the same pattern on the one he had gone to sleep under the night before-

It's the quilt his mom made him, and the panic, the worry that he's somehow added "hallucinations" to his never-ending string of migraine disorder symptoms, is back. There are two phones lying on the coffee table, and he grabs the one without a camo case, because he's the least tacky adult in this house. He tries his usual password, which doesn't work. He tries his birthday, his sisters' birthdays, his mom's birthdays... Nothing. He thinks about it, then tries 1119. When it works, he briefly contemplates leaping out the window, but he still has the baby, who's kind of shivering now, so he wraps her up tighter before opening up his contacts list.

He calls his mom, because he doesn’t know what else to do, and he misses her, and maybe she knows why he's here, holding a baby, and not in the dark, bracing for another migraine. 

"Nolan? This is unexpected!" 

"Hi Mom," he answers, pulling off the baby's hand from where it's wandered up to tug at his hair. 

"How are you doing, honey?" she asks, and Nolan decides to cut to the chase.

"Mom, what am I doing with a baby?"

He's not sure what he expected to hear, but a deep sigh is not one of them.

"Oh, Nolan, honey, we've talked about this. Remember? You don't have to be perfect to be a parent. We all just do our best. Goodness knows I screwed the pooch with the three of you many times and you all turned out alright." His mom chuckles. Nolan thinks she's not understanding the essence of the question. 

"No, seriously, mom, like I woke up this morning in this house I've never been in-"

"Well, darling," his mom interrupts. "I'm not sure that's true. Maybe it feels brand-new because of the updates-"

"-next to someone I wasn't expecting to see-"

"Nolan... Why are you calling, honey? Is something going on with you and Travis? The first year with a child can be a real test, open lines of communication are the key-"

Nolan's head has finally started hurting, not at like migraine levels, but enough that he knows he needs to end this phone call because it's going nowhere productive.

"No, nothing's- nothing's going on between Teeks and I... I guess I'm not used to it all just yet."

Understatement. 

"That's completely normal, sweetheart. In fact..." She trails off, before saying, "Nolan, Clara sounds hungry, try that new formula I recommended - purple box, honey. I have to go sweetheart, someone is on the line, but we can hash all this out later. Love you, speak soon!"

"Bye, mom," Nolan mutters, but the line is already dead. 

The baby - Clara, apparently - does sound worked up, and Nolan migrates with her to the kitchen to find the purple box of formula. It's right on the counter, and luckily has instructions on the back that Nolan is able to follow. He tests the liquid on his wrist, because he has some distant memory of his mom doing it for his niece, before easing the bottle into Clara's mouth. 

She settles in immediately, and he sinks down with her on the armchair. Cross his mom off the list of people who are gonna help him unravel this situation. He gets the phone back out and calls Madison. Clara starts spitting up a little so he readjusts her in his lap as it dials. 

"Nols, there better be a really good reason you're calling this early," Madison says, which is predictable and makes Nolan feel a little better. 

"Hey, sorry," he says, then asks what he's beginning to suspect is the problem. "This might sound weird, but what year is it?"

"Nols, is your head hurting again? Is it that hit you took last game?" Which would explain the ribs. "Hang up and go see someone if you can't remember what year it is."

"My head's fine, Mads, can you- can you just humor me?"

There's silence on the other end.

"Okay, yeah. It's 2029, kid."

Nolan feels lightheaded. He prioritizes not dropping the baby, but beyond that, he has no idea what he does, or what words come out of his mouth in response. 

"Nolan, Nolan," he finally hears Madison say. "Breathe, kiddo. Why don't you tell me what's going on."

So he explains. The pain he was in when he went to sleep. In 2019. How he woke up with TK in his bed and a baby in this house. This ridiculous chalet he's never been in before. How apparently he's missed ten years of his life. 

"Where am I, Mads? Is this house mine? Is this baby mine? Do you know-" his voice cracks despite his best efforts. "Do you know why TK- Are we-” He can't bring himself to ask the question, so he just squeezes his eyes shut and waits for Madison’s answer. 

"Okay, I still think you should see a doctor, Nolan, although you might have to wait until you come home, because your house is in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere. I mean you have a house in Philly, but this one’s, like, your vacation house, I guess. And yeah, Clara is yours, kid. You finalized the adoption last month. And TK, well, check your left hand, Nols.”

Now that he’s staring at it, he has no idea how he missed the ring on his left hand. It’s simple, platinum, but unmistakably an engagement ring.

“You’re getting married this summer, kid.”

It’s suddenly too much, every revelation chipping away at something in Nolan, and he focuses on his breathing and tipping the last couple drops of formula into Clara’s mouth. He can hear Madison trying to get his attention, but he’s dropped the phone to haul Clara over his shoulders so he can pat her back. He remembers at the last second to throw a towel over his shirt. Clara burps, Nolan wipes her face, and he finally picks up the phone, not because he feels ready to address anything Madison said, but because he knows she’s probably getting more pissed the longer he waits.

“Mads, I…” he says, but can’t articulate anything he’s feeling in the moment.

“Nolan. I need you to talk to me. I can’t help you if I have no idea what’s going on.”

Nolan slowly breathes out through his nose. “Madison, the whole point is that I have no idea what’s going on. When I went to sleep I was fighting through pretty much the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” He can feel the anxiety claw at his chest, threatening to clog up his throat. He gulps for air. “And now you’re telling me I have a fiance? And a baby? And a house? I can’t even take care of myself, why would anyone give me a baby? And what world are we in that TK wants to marry me? He has a girlfriend! I’ve met her. He’s talked about proposing.” 

And there it is, everything he was afraid of saying out loud. Tears stream down his cheeks and Clara’s getting upset in his arms. He takes a couple more breaths, and tries to calm down, for her sake. 

“Nolan. Listen to me. I don’t know exactly what’s happening. If you’re having some sort of breakdown, or if it’s your head, or you’re here from 2019, but listen to me. You deserve every good thing that’s ever happened to you, and you’ve never deserved any of the shit you’ve been through. I can’t promise shit won’t keep happening, but you need to embrace all of the blessings you have right now. You can’t run away from them. And if you’re sure it isn’t your head, I think you just take this day one thing at a time. If it’s tomorrow, and you’re still the you from 2019, then maybe we move into panic mode.”

Nolan wants to believe everything she’s saying. But it’s really hard to believe his life will ever look like this, much less that he deserves it. Maybe she’s right, though, that there’s nothing to do but accept today as it comes.

“Nols,” Madison asks, and Nolan suddenly misses her. 

“I love you, Mads,” he says.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” which is what she’s always said, since they were little. She hangs up. 

There’s clattering from the bedroom, and Nolan hurries to wipe his eyes before TK emerges. The sink runs, then shuts off, and TK saunters out, his hair a confused mess atop his head. He rubs at his eyes and squints at Nolan.

“Hey, bud,” he says with a smile. “I was thinking waffles?”

He walks over and kisses Clara's forehead, muttering something about his "Claire-bear" and then before Nolan can react, kisses him on the head, too. Nolan feels his heart thud as TK goes off, whistling, to the kitchen. Out of everything he’s been confronted with so far, this is the one that hurts the most. He wonders if this is his subconscious' way of getting back at him for spending his idle months hopelessly in love with his best friend. 

The TK thing had been a problem for so long that Nolan can hardly pinpoint how it happened. One day he and TK were just, like, really good bros, and the next, he couldn’t imagine life without him. Then things got serious between TK and his girlfriend, and TK never stopped spending time with Nolan, but he felt removed, maybe. Which was normal, as Nolan always tried to remind himself, but as TK started playing, and he didn’t, the distance only seemed to grow, and Nolan spent a lot of time hurting. Eventually, he was the one who pulled away, because barely being able to string two good days together was embarrassing, and being near TK was painful, and mostly because it became harder and harder to hold back everything he was feeling. 

Watching TK shoot small, adoring glances at him over his shoulder as he slices strawberries is too much to handle. One thing at a time, he reminds himself. Just treat it like another day. 

“So when you said waffles,” Nolan says. “You really meant popping Eggos in the toaster, right?”

There. He can do normal. 

“You love Eggos, bitch, don’t even front,” TK responds. 

He stacks four waffles on each of their plates, along with a mountain of strawberries, and entirely too much whipped cream. Nolan walks Clara over to the high chair, where TK’s arranged a couple of slices of fruit for her. Nolan slides into his chair and almost upends the whole table when TK leans over, as if he’s trying to kiss him. Which he probably is. Because in this universe, they’re engaged. 

Nolan tries to recover, shepherding his and TK’s waffles back onto their plates. TK is looking at him with worried eyes, and Nolan has no idea what to say. 

“Pats, you okay?” TK says, gently. 

Nolan tucks his hair behind his ears and tries to smile. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just…”

“You don’t have to explain,” TK says quickly, which only makes Nolan feel worse. “I know I’m irresistible like 99% of the time, it’s okay if the other 1% you can’t stand my face.” 

TK kicks him under the table, and Nolan kicks him back. It feels okay, like he hasn’t ruined everything. Nolan inhales the waffles, suddenly ravenous, and watches as TK dollops whipped cream onto every bite. 

“You know Clara’s watching you,” he says.

“And?” TK asks, between enormous mouthfuls of 90% whipped cream and 10% strawberries.

“It’s like smoking. About how it’s passed down? She’s picking up all your horrible habits.”

TK slams the table with his fist, and Clara giggles from her high chair. “Patty. Bud. Did you really compare me liking whipped cream to a smoking addiction?”

“The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem,” Nolan says, before dodging TK as he leaps around the table. TK chases him out the kitchen, to the living room, where Nolan dodges behind a couch, only to find no exit routes available. He starts throwing the nearest objects at TK - his quilt, throw pillows, a sock - but TK’s persistent and manages to pin Nolan to the ground. TK kind of stares at him and looks like he wants to do it again, kiss him, but he just sweeps Nolan’s hair out of his eyes and sits up. 

“Loser does the dishes,” he says.

“Yeah, and who got up to change Clara this morning?” Nolan asks.

“And who’s about to go put her down for her nap?” TK retorts, which, Nolan fails to see how that’s a fair trade, but whatever. He watches as TK heads back to lift Clara from her seat, flinging her high in the air and blowing a raspberry on her stomach. Clara explodes into giggles, and TK laughs with her, and Nolan feels light inside. He feels buoyant, he realizes, and maybe it’s the relief of no longer having a migraine, or the joy of accepting this reality as his for the day, but he feels like he could run to the moon and back. 

He’s drying the last of the dishes, when he feels an arm sneak around his waist. 

“Hey, babe,” TK croons in his ear, and Nolan finds that it’s impossible to keep a smile off his face.

“Clara’s sleeping?” 

“Out like a light,” TK says, and steals the last dish to put it away. “Snoring, too.”

“See what I said about habits?”

TK shoves Nolan, and Nolan shoves back and they engage in a vicious shoving match that somehow ends on the couch with Nolan tucked snugly under TK’s arm. TK turns on the TV, and Nolan is expecting, like, Sunday morning cartoons or something, but it’s the NHL All Star game. Which would explain why they’re here and not playing. Nolan breathes a sigh of relief. Mads had mentioned a game, but it could have been the fucking beer league for all he knew. Now it seems likely he’s still up, still playing. 

“And next up, your Metropolitan Team Captain! Alexis Lafreniere, Captain of the New Jersey Devils! Your Metro Team Captain was originally slated to be Philadelphia Flyers Captain Travis Konecny, but Konecny elected to take the one game suspension, citing the need to recover from a difficult first half of the season, which included nine games missed for the 32 year old Captain. This would have been his fifth All-Stars appearance.”

Nolan stares at TK. He’s so proud of him, he wants to yell and scream with it, but of course, he would have already known all of that. Instead, he turns back around to grab TK’s ankle and give it a squeeze.

“Okay, Ovechkin,” he chirps, and he feels TK smile against the back of his head. TK grabs his hand and laces his fingers through Nolan’s. 

Nolan hadn’t realized he’d gone back to sleep when Clara’s crying wakes him up. It’s a weirdly tinny sound, though, that Nolan traces to a baby monitor lodged in between his and TK’s bodies. TK’s somehow migrated during their impromptu nap to rest on top of him and Nolan heaves him off to the other side of the couch before getting up to go grab Clara.

He deposits a wiggly Clara on top of a still sleeping TK and watches as he wakes up in stages. Bemused, then grumpy, then sleepily happy as he tickles Clara where she’s squirming on TK’s chest. His eyes meet Nolan’s, and Nolan still isn’t used to that slow, sweet smile that seems to be TK’s Nolan smile. Nolan pushes his toes into TK’s thigh and wills away the blush inherent in his cheeks.

“So...we doing anything today?” he asks, and TK lights up.

“I was thinking we could go sledding?” 

So they do.

They bundle Clara up in the tiniest snowsuit ever and TK lugs what looks like five sleds to the hill out back. There’s a decent clearing through the trees, but it still looks fairly steep, and Nolan point blank refuses to let TK bring Clara on the oldest of the sleds, a rickety contraption that looks like it’s from the 1950s and held together with duct tape. 

He and Clara stay huddled on the hilltop to watch as TK goes headfirst down the disaster toboggan. He flips at least three times, and Nolan briefly has a vision of explaining to their GM why TK is returning to Philly in a body cast before TK leaps up, by all accounts unharmed. 

“Nolan! You gotta try this!” TK yells from below, so Nolan does. He elects to sit up, which results in a smooth descent downwards and he laughs in TK’s face when he makes it back to the top. 

“Safety first, motherfucker,” he crows. 

TK covers Clara’s ears with his enormous fuzzy mittens. 

“Shame on you, Nolan James Patrick.”

Nolan finally relents and lets TK take Clara down a mini side-slope on a newer, safer-looking sled. On their second ride down, TK tugs at Nolan’s pant leg until he’s situated where TK apparently wants him, plastered to his back, legs tucked securely around him and Clara.

“Three! Two! One!” TK yells, before pushing them off, and it’s not the thrill of the larger hill, but it’s something better, Clara’s shrieks of joy in his ear, TK’s body warm and solid against him. They whip past the trees, green and white blurring together as they pick up speed. Snow stings Nolan’s eyes, and his face hurts from smiling as he hugs TK and Clara close. They land in a messy pile at the bottom, TK and Nolan’s bodies bracketing Clara between them. 

Nolan is wheezing with laughter, and Clara is giggling, and TK is looking at both of them like- 

“I love you guys,” he says. 

Like that. Nolan doesn’t hesitate before saying “I love you, too, bud” because it’s the truth, and “I love you, Clara” because it’s somehow also the truth despite barely knowing her a couple hours. The sense of rightness is overwhelming, and Nolan is powerless in the face of it. 

TK brushes the snow off of all of their faces, before saying, “Come on, Claire-Bear. Tell Daddy to hurry up, cause I got a surprise for you.”

Nolan picks up a handful of snow and shoves it in TK’s face. “Definitely not going anywhere if you keep calling me Daddy,” he says. 

TK smirks at him. 

“You didn’t mind when we were-” he starts, before Nolan picks up Clara and marches away, because no child should have to hear that, and frankly, neither should he. His cheeks are red enough from the snow as is. 

They all towel off inside, slipping on new shirts and socks. TK chooses a hair-bow for Clara, because he insists this is some kind of special occasion. Nolan can’t really fathom what, but he dutifully dresses her as he waits for TK to finish blow-drying his hair, as if that’s going to accomplish anything. 

He waits with her in the living room where he spots the row of photos on the mantel place he must have missed earlier. They’re mostly of the three of them - Clara and TK at the park, TK and Nolan at the beach, Nolan with Clara on his shoulders - but there’s a team photo, too, right smack dab in the middle. Nolan and TK, younger than they look now, but older than the age he is, have their arms slung around each other off to the side. In the middle, though, is Claude who’s hoisting the most recognizable trophy in hockey history. 

“Holy shit, Clara,” he says aloud, tracing the picture with his finger. He figures profanity is excusable in the face of something like this. “We did it.”

“And we’re gonna do it again, baby,” TK says, from where he’s sidled up beside them. 

Nolan turns to grin at him and suddenly it feels impossible not to kiss him. He reaches over Clara’s head to put his lips on TK’s. He tugs TK’s bottom lip between his own and sucks gently before pulling back. 

“Hell yeah, we are.”

They head out to TK’s truck, at TK’s behest. TK absolutely refuses to say anything about where they’re going, beyond “close-by” so Nolan settles in with the aux for the drive. It’s weird to look through his music and recognize roughly 20% of it, but he throws on a “happy vibes” playlist he made in, like, 10th grade and laughs when the first song to come on is "Stacy's Mom". 10th grade him was something else. 

"Bro," TK says with a grin, before belting out "Stacy, can I come over after schoOoOol?"

Nolan gets him with the assist. "After school!" 

They keep trading lyrics, Clara babbling along in the back seat, and it feels so much like old times, pre-migraines, pre-Nolan's TK problem, that he can't help but bounce in his seat with it. 

"Stacy's mom has got it goin' on!"

TK pulls off the road onto some snaking dirt path that takes them past what looks like a dairy farm. 

"So we're milking cows?" Nolan asks. 

TK shoves him in the shoulder. 

"Next house over," he says, before parking in the driveway of a one story bungalow. 

TK hops out, grabs Clara, and is at the front door before Nolan has a chance to react. He gets out of the car, before locking it behind him since TK hadn't even bothered. He hears voices from inside and tentatively eases open the door.

TK has his back to him, chatting with some older couple, but racing through his legs to greet Nolan is the smallest, dopiest puppy he's ever seen. Nolan holds out his hand for him to sniff, but instead the dog takes a giant leap and lands on Nolan's legs with a thump.

"Hi, bud," Nolan laughs. "Good to see you, too."

He's scritching behind his ears, when TK walks over. 

"What do you think?" he asks Nolan, and oh. Oh. 

This is the surprise?

Nolan had kind of wondered why Charlie or Marvin weren't at the cabin with them, but, yeah, maybe they weren't there because they were gone.

"I'm thinking Travis Jr.," Travis says.

"Over my dead body," Nolan retorts, watching as the older woman Travis had been talking to deposits Clara on the floor next to the puppy.

"They'll grow up together," she says, as Clara gets one tiny fist tangled in the dog's matted fur. Nolan almost wants to interfere, make sure the dog doesn't jump on her like he did him, but he seems to understand the need to be gentle, making little leaps at Clara until she's falling over from laughter. 

"No, seriously," Travis says. "How do you feel about Benji?"

The puppy nuzzles Clara's stomach before looking up at Nolan with wide eyes. "It's perfect," he says. 

They can't take Benji home for another week so they say goodbye to the George's, who promise to send many pictures in the meantime.

Clara is heartbroken and cries all the way home, but she's so exhausted she conks out pretty much as soon as she's in her crib.

TK catches him watching her, the small puffs of her exhales soothing to listen to in the quiet of the room.

"She looks like you, you know," TK says.

"What? How is that possible?" Nolan's pretty sure Madison had said adoption, right?

"Just does, bud. You both look really peaceful when you sleep."

TK smiles at him, then presses something into his hand. 

"Left this in the truck," he says. 

Nolan opens his fist to see a bottle of pills. His migraine meds. He looks up at TK.

"Do you remember-" he starts, then tries again. "Do you remember the last time I had one?" he asks, trying not to hold his breath for the answer.

TK scrunches up his face, before saying, "Well you had that cluster last year when they were adjusting your dosage, but that was over pretty quick. A couple Cup year right? After all the partying, something about the alcohol. But none of it was like that first year, really. Why, you worried about it?"

Nolan shakes his head, then stops, nods. "Yeah, kind of. That first year it just- Really sucked." He can feel his eyes grow tight and tries to turn away, but TK leans in to hug him tight.

"I know, bud," TK says, hushed. "But the doctors don't expect anything else to happen, and if it does we'll get through it, eh? We always do. Me and you, bud."

Nolan nods into TK's shoulder before letting go. 

The rest of the day passes in a lazy haze. Nolan and TK play this stupid game TK invents called "Money in the Hole". TK wins three times before Nolan accuses him of rigging it. A cranky Clara breaks up their bickering. They eat fried fish for lunch, which Nolan had apparently caught ice fishing. Nolan watches as TK pulls out glasses after lunch to read a real, non-comic book. He stares, he knows he does, because what the fuck. TK ears turn kind of red when he notices. 

"What?" he says. "This is the one you recommended to me."

By the time dinner rolls around, and they finish dinner clean-up and put Clara to bed for what feels like the billionth time, Nolan is ready to sack out. TK clearly feels the same way because after changing into some flannel bottoms, he collapses on top of Nolan in their bed. TK's lips find his, and Nolan is too tired to do anything but go for it. They stay like that for a while, lazily making out, Nolan's hands roaming over TK's back, TK absently squeezing Nolan's ass. They're both kind of hard, but clearly too tired to do anything about it, so Nolan rolls over, buries his face in TK's neck, and falls asleep. 

//

He had forgotten. Nolan had bought into his other life so fully that he had forgotten what real life felt like.

It feels like this: easing out of bed to close the curtains against the crack that's letting in light because he's at like a 3/10 pain level and he rather it not get worse. It feels like sliding back into bed because he's not really tired, but he doesn't have the energy to go do anything else. It feels like loss.

He chances looking at his phone, though he turns the brightness way down, to look at his calendar. 2019. Okay. Everything that happened yesterday is feeling less and less real, the likelihood of it all being some elaborate dream or wish fulfillment seeming increasingly high. Some details keep coming back to him, though, like watching TK blink snow out of his eyelashes, or touching Clara's cheek as she falls asleep. None of it is like any dream he's had before, and he wants to believe, but also doesn't want to kid himself. This is his reality.

A Facebook notification pops up on his screen. He's mostly kept his Facebook to keep up with his cousins, so he's just going to ignore it, before he sees it's from TK. It's a response to a stupid meme Nolan had forgotten he'd tagged him in, one of those "Dad, why is my sister's name Rose?" ones. The punchline to this one is "No problem, St. Croix Mojo Inshore Spinning Rod", which checks out. He opens TK's comment. He seems to have missed the joke entirely, or is just being blisteringly sincere as he sometimes is, because he's replied, "Nah, bro. Both trash names. If I have kids, I'm naming them Clara and Benji."

Nolan stares. He closes the app, then opens it back up and stares some more. He considers responding to TK's comment, something along the lines of "What the fuck?" but instead closes his phone and sits back against the headboard.

So maybe it's not a dream. Maybe. Hope is trickling through him, and he covers his face with both hands. Maybe, but either way, in some dimension or another, TK promised him that'd he'd get through it, that they'd get through it together. And for now, that's good enough.


End file.
